Full
by The Blue Generation
Summary: [HIATUS] It's no secret that the Kaiba brothers live luxuriously. The one luxury they can't seem to afford nowadays was time. So what does a rich, busy billionaire do? Simple. He hires help. Singular. A longer, better summary inside.
1. The Restaurant Scene

**Full  
><strong>_A YGO! Duel Monsters Fan Fiction_

**Summary: **It's no secret that the Kaiba brothers live luxuriously. But the one luxury they can't seem to afford is time; not even for spring cleaning, or reading. The rift between the two worsens when Seto is forced to fire most of his helpers, due to a dire situation involving his company. Now, Mokuba is left alone, scavenging for himself, and Seto's workaholic attitude and drive to succeed prevent him from mending the breaking ties with his beloved brother. What's the solution of a rich, busy billionaire then? Simple. He hires help. Singular. _  
><em>

**A/N: **Goodness, how long has it been since I last wrote for this fandom? Way too long, I tell ya'all. Way too long. But that's all about to change with this story. I know I have a million other pending stories, however, this certain plot bunny refused to leave my head until I wrote it down. I think it's because I watched _"Babette's Feast"_ for film class. It's a helluva good movie, and I suppose now is the best time to say that this entire story, plot and all, is based off of that. You don't need to watch it to get this story, of course, but it'd be great if you notice the Easter Eggs I'll be putting here and there, in reference to the film.

Ah, anyway! Why am I rambling on and on about this? Let's get to the story! I can't guarantee fast updates, but if you review I could make an exception ;) Haha, I kid, I kid! Just enjoy the story guys, and I beg of you not to flame. It's a waste of time on both our parts, wouldn't you agree?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this fandom. I wish I did. I could have Seto all to myself, mwahahaha!

**Warnings: **It's rated T+ for language and some mature, heavy-ish themes. This story is lemon-free, and there is an OC involved. Put a little faith in me, I promise you won't end up rolling your at her. Err, at least, I hope you won't...cue nervous laughter? And lastly, I'm warning you all now, this story will make you very, _very _hungry. Oh yes. Title should be self-explanatory, as well as the inspiration for this story.

Now, let's really get on with the show! I recommend viewing this story in either 3/4 or 1/2 page view setting. It makes it look spiffier, in my opinion.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER I<br>"The Restaurant Scene."**

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><p>When working up till the wee hours of the morning, a certain CEO tells himself many things to keep his mind on his latest project. He needs to take a break, make a cup of coffee, and get his senses back together— too much circuitry, too many broken wires that needed repair. There's a presentation at 10 AM, then he has a lunch meeting with his business affiliates. A casual glance at the digital clock and it reads 3:41 AM. With an impassive expression and nimble fingers typing away on a rather advanced looking laptop, the CEO ignores his needs and focuses. He tries to lose himself in the numbers and charts and graphs. He desperately needs to wash his face, take a cold shower, and do a number one. Does he allow any of these?<p>

...Maybe for the last one, yes, but for the others? If he can help it, no, he does not allow it.

The CEO's brows furrow, and the next time he looks at the clock, it is 6 AM.

Half of his blueprints have been coded and uploaded. He's completed more than two-thirds of his workload for the week. Ah, but what about for next week? And what of the dinner meeting with his employers and consultants? The CEO, with bland eyes and a straight face, closes his laptop and stretches. He walks to the window—and what a window he had! The view was impeccable, though he had to admit, he never once looked outside and felt the same rush of joy and inspiration as a starving artist would—and without a single ounce of hesitation, covers the city's brightening sky line with his designer blinds.

6:04 AM. He really needs to prioritize his schedule better.

* * *

><p>"Your brother is on the other line, sir."<p>

"How many times do I have to tell you to transfer our calls directly?" He sighs irritably. "Put the call up."

The CEO does not wait for the well-rehearsed, almost mechanical apology from his secretary of five years. He's aware that she never listened to his instruction regarding his brother calling him at work because it gives her the excuse to listen to his voice for an extended period of a mere ten seconds. He's not dumb, he's used to reading people even when he doesn't care to.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar, refreshing voice.

The message was not as enjoyable to hear.

"You missed it again, Seto." He hated that tone. He _hated _it.

"I know. I was busy."

He can feel his younger brother shifting in the other end, probably in an attempt to hold the phone on the cradle of his shoulder while eating a bowl of soggy cereal.

"You're always busy."

If it was any other person, he'd have a good, clean comeback that would assure each person on the end of the phone that their conversation was over. But this was his brother—and his brother wasn't some other person—so the CEO sighed heavily and gave the phone call a little more patience than he'd like to admit.

"Then you shouldn't have to keep wondering why I don't make it." He makes it a point to restrain himself. It was easy when he spoke to him, but the fatigue from the night before was starting to settle in his stomach, and it throbbed in the back of his head. He regretted drinking that extra cup of coffee.

"..."

He can feel his younger brother pouting, giving him the face that would strike guilt into the hearts of even the world's toughest, battle-hardened warriors. He was glad that it wasn't a video call. He wouldn't last a single second against the onslaught of those big, blue eyes. The CEO was well-trained against such facades, though he always made an exemption for this particular scenario. He continued to type, knowing what he should say but not knowing how to say it.

The silence drifted for exactly one minute and ten seconds before the older sibling groaned against the mouthpiece of the phone.

"Saturday afternoon, we'll make up for that night then. Happy?"

His brother smiles, but it is not enthusiastic nor was it warm. It was the simple act of making the effort to appreciate his brother's lie by turning the corners of his lips upward, something like a response to the effort his brother made to lie to him, just to make him, in turn, happy. The paradox between the two was astoundingly mundane.

"Okay. I'll call again later. Good luck with work."

"Mm. Take the driver to school, don't walk. It's freezing outside."

"Saturday, okay?"

The CEO stops for a brief fraction of a second in whatever it was he was calculating on his pristine text pad, and then continues his work.

"Yes."

"Bye."

"Bye."

They hang up at the same time, and the CEO—dressed in his usual work clothes of black shirt, black shoes, black pants and blue trench coat—closes his eyes. He rolls his neck and starts a new document to type in, forgetting the date of Saturday almost instantaneously. A new pie chart was uploaded on his server regarding the economic trends of his new product line up.

The CEO subconsciously wondered if his him and his brother would ever get to watch a movie together. They used to do that so often, before. The CEO couldn't think of a single reason as to what changed. Work? He always had work, though. But when there were charts and equations and stocks to check, who had the patience to wonder about things like that? Maybe tomorrow, the CEO told himself. He'd think up of a reason tomorrow.

In the heart of the brothers' manor, the younger of the two siblings throws his cereal down the drainage and doesn't look back as he runs outside for school. He forgets to tell his brother that despite their income on a weekly basis, their pantry and refrigerator were empty.

He also forgets to mention that he's been eating stale cereal for weeks. His brother is busy. He supposed it could wait.

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><p>The CEO is surrounded with business men in tight suits and fitted cufflinks. He speaks only when he is spoken to. He doesn't glance around. The bright lights and red hues of the room make him dizzy. His eyes are unfocused, and he sips from his glass of wine. He has little idea of who refilled his glass, or who even ordered a bottle.<p>

"Mr. Kaiba, the stock market's stability rate has decreased by over 3.5% within the span of seven hours. Should we reclaim our own stocks and replenish our supplies in other countries?" He briefly recognizes the man—he had a moustache and was aging quite poorly, and he was certain he was always in meetings. He wasn't as important as the rest of his council; otherwise he would have remembered who he was.

"That's not advisable. Our trends chart shows a 6.54% increase in the next day or two. We'll regain momentum then. Don't make such impulsive conclusions based on such a negligible amount of data."

He was on his second glass, downing it down for a third. He'll regret it in the morning again, but he didn't care to worry. It was like water when you got down to the fourth and the fifth serving.

The business men were speaking to him, and they discussed the coming weeks of the latest production of hologram projectors for universities. They were eating when he realized he was having his favourite dish—beef filet with _foie gras_ sauce. Why didn't he notice that first bite? The CEO didn't notice his stomach was growling either. Nor did he notice that he was already back home, and that he was collapsed on his desk the moment he sat himself down on his plush leather chair.

He had forgotten he was at that place, at that meeting as soon as he woke up. The numbers retained in his mind out of pure discipline for his work, but the faces, the tastes (or lack of thereof)...they were lost on him. He blamed the alcohol. Was it the alcohol? Probably. It went down like water. That's all he could remember.

The CEO, eyes bloodshot and half-closed, glanced at the digital clock. It read 2:30 PM in the afternoon. He cursed and showered and regained his routine, his momentum, just like his precious stocks. The cycle began without much effort. It was so easy, now.

As he holed himself up in his study, doors closed firmly and windows open for just enough light to pass through the artificially lit room, a mop of black hair pointedly stood out against a background of noise and silence. The younger sibling hugged his knees, his gaze fixated on the television set. He looked strange. Maybe it was the shadows the TV made on his face that made him look so dry. Empty. Unhealthy.

He liked that his favorite Saturday morning shows had re-runs in the afternoons. It helped occupy him.

He still hadn't told his brother that there was nothing in the pantry or in the cupboards or the fridge. He's busy. He supposed that he could wait.


	2. The Waiting Line

**Full  
><strong>_A YGO! Duel Monsters Fan Fiction_

**A/N: **Here's Chapter II. Usually, I wait till I get at least one review for a story before I update, but I'm not kidding. The ideas for this fic just keeps on coming, even in my dreams. Again, I'm plugging in _"Babette's Feast"_. It's a 1987 Danish movie that won an Academy Award back in the day. :) Yeah, I love plugging in that movie. Well, err. I guess it makes sense since this entire story is based off of it...Bah, anyway! You don't have to watch it to understand this story, I'll say it again. Andddd, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I appreciate the Story Faves and Alerts, but hey, a comment would be great as well :) Thanks guys!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this fandom. Duh.

It's recommended that you view this story in either 3/4 or 1/2 page view setting.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER II<br>"Waiting in Line."**

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><p>It took a large sum of money and an even more intimidating amount of personal threats to get the media to stop their coverage of an unfortunate incident in the Kaiba Manor several weeks ago. Not only would the company suffer even more losses than they were already experiencing, but it would leave the brothers open to attack from swindling buffoons. Those eager to step foot in the famed Kaiba residence, even if they were there to do menial chores.<p>

The thought of fending off idiots like those made Seto sick to the stomach. It didn't help with his throbbing headache either.

That had been the beginning of the fall, he surmised. As he began his daily work routine (_How could he be running out of clean shirts to wear? He'll buy more later_.), his mind reeled back to the time when one of his employees pulled the plug on their latest project to Seto's competitors. It turned out that his secretary herself was the spy, sneaky and cunning as she was; she knew Seto was tiring himself out more than usual (_And the man wouldn't dare admit it was because he was rebounding from his, dare he say it, "adventures", with Mutou and the Geek Squad_.). He should have seen her manipulative ways, directing his calls and scheduling his weeks ahead, way too out of context. The way she handled his papers and shit, he should have noticed the way her eyes lit up when he handed her confidential information to fax to confidential clients...Seto frowned deeply.

Needless to say, the woman was fired the moment she was weeded out by her fellow co-workers. While they had their fair share of repercussions for staying quiet for so long (_Let's see they get that raise now_.), they were acting out of fear. Seto thought it was extremely pathetic on both ends, but he was a smart man who knew where to put his resources to better use. Economics was part of his expertise. The secretary got the trademark ice cold Kaiba-branded penalties, while the rest suffered in their own little ways but still kept their jobs.

A five rank demotion and a third cut in pay, plus two months of overtime and an additional contract renewal for three years didn't sound so bad, right?

Since most of Seto's most recent projects could probably be searched online in Google, he had to cut half of his assets for damage control. The strings that he pulled just to get his company back on track took a great deal of energy and sucking up to new, fresh clients. Taking into account his personality and his temperament, his talent and skill in business manipulation hadn't accounted for much in the end. His patience was wearily thin as a result, even when it came to what really mattered.

Like Mokuba. Only Mokuba.

And that's what irritated him the most.

Even after a month since the incident of the Great Kaiba Corp Leak (_Note to self: hire employees who can come up with better, more creative names for company crises_.) he still wasn't finished in fixing what his whore of an ex-secretary brought upon the company. He almost wished he didn't send her straight to jail for her crimes, just so he could torture her on a nightly basis to release some stress. Rubbing his temples, he tugged on his cuff links like a toddler jerking cookies out of a jar and settled for a simple look for the day; white polo shirt, indigo trench coat, black pants. Indigo reminded him a lot of his brother for some reason, and he supposed that's why he wore it often, nowadays. His work was piling up on his shoulders with more weight than he'd care to admit, and he was all alone up top. He was the big boss, the man to turn to. He couldn't stop working on fixing everything until every single employee in Kaiba Corp, right down to the janitor, forgot the betrayal completely. As if it never happened.

How many stocks did he lose? How many dollars went down the drain?

He cursed inwardly when he suddenly realized that Ishikago Inc. released a prototype of a hologram toy machine Seto was planning to develop last month.

He hated what happened with a greater passion because Mokuba helped him design many of those leaked blueprints.

Now, he barely saw him. He barely talked to him. Only through phone calls, or relayed messages.

He hadn't even asked his brother if he was doing okay after Seto fired nearly all of his personal staff at the house, because for once, the CEO couldn't afford to pay for all of their services. Damn _bitch_.

The grim expression was seemingly cemented permanently on Seto's face as he left his home to drive to the office. A lingering, growling, rumbling feeling underneath his ribcage accompanied his downcast mood. He drank a half a cup of espresso coffee before grabbing his keys and leaving.

Economics; was he truly allocating his resources in the right place?

He hoped. His pains...they were all for the best.

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><p>"Hey, Mokuba!"<p>

The brunette momentarily halted and did a half-turn, only to be greeted by a familiar group of people. He smiled weakly and waved as enthusiastically as possible. While Yugi and his friends weren't treated with as much snark when it came to the younger Kaiba, he was still pretty guarded when it came to them. Sure, he trusted them somewhat. And he wasn't angry or irritated like his brother was (_On occasion, especially when they got rowdy, this stops applying_.); most of the time, Mokuba actually liked hanging out with them. When they weren't being dorks, they were actually pretty nice people.

They exhausted him, though. These were the days when he was feeling the stress just like Seto was, as if it bounced off from sibling to sibling.

"Hey," He faced them fully now, hands on the strap of his yellow back-pack. "What are you guys up to now?"

Joey laughed and rubbed his nose. "Man, you say that as if we're _always_ plannin' somethin' weird!"

"In all honesty, weird things do happen to us. I guess it's easy to associate the two together." Tea giggled, and ruffled Mokuba's hair. He didn't find it too endearing at the moment, but he smiled through his teeth anyway. Best not to be rude. Seto may have the balls to shoot them down immediately, and truth be told it helped that the two groups both mutually disliked one another on a major level, but Mokuba was a lot more lenient.

Or lonely. Whichever.

"So anyway, where you headed? Going home already?" Yugi pitched in the conversation as Tea called over Duke and Tristan.

Mokuba nodded. "Yup. Got homework to do. I figured I'd get a head start."

"Meh, you're a smart kid! I betcha you can cram all that crap down in a minute and you'd still get high grades!" Joey grinned. He had to admit, as much as he hated complimenting money bags and anything associated with him, he did have a bright younger brother. That was as far as he was willing to go, though.

Mokuba shook his head. "No, I'm having a hard time with the lesson now. It's really technical, so I always have to study the night before." At the back of his head, a small voice whispered how easy it would be if he had Seto to tutor him, but he violently shooed that voice away. Now wasn't the time for that.

"Oh wow, really?" Tea piped up again. To her left and right appeared Duke and Tristan, finally finished with their roughhousing minutes before. Tea resumed conversation, leaning her hand on her hip. "What's your lesson? Maybe we could help?"

"Pass." Joey snorted. "Not that I don't wanna teach you, but kid, I sleep half the time in class."

Yugi sighed. "Tell me about it. You really need to discipline yourself more, Joey. What if you fail?"

"Pshaw, I won't fail! I got you to help teach me if I don't get the lesson, right?" The blond locks Yugi's head in a playful armpit death grip. The rest of the group started laughing at their antics.

"I can't help you if you don't listen!" The young duelist retaliated.

"I'll read ya notes!"

"You won't get them, because you don't listen." Mokuba comically noticed how Yugi's voice elevated not because he was completely exasperated with his best friend's study habits (_or lack of thereof_), but because the choke hold was suffocating him. He managed to laugh quietly too. It must have felt nice to be around friends every day, all day.

"It's fine, I can do it myself. Thanks anyway." Mokuba felt as if he was partially being ignored as the group started to escalate in terms of roughhousing, but he didn't seem to mind too much. After a half-hearted farewell conversation, Mokuba parted ways with the group and headed home to the manor. The driver of their limousine was parked just a block away from the school, to avoid paparazzi. Mokuba himself took a longer route to get there, just in case. He was painfully aware of what happened to his brother and the company, and he shared in his brother's grief and anger. What made him angrier was the fact that because Kaiba Corp was suffering financially, Seto was more and more engrossed in his work that all they worked on together-

-Mokuba's brows crunched up. He didn't need to think about it, or worry about it. Seto would bounce back. He'd return. He was Seto! He always rebounded from things like this.

He was able to reach the car without much hassle. Mokuba threw open the door and signaled for the driver to start the trip back home. He placed his backpack down and stretched in the back seat, the roaring of the engine heard muffled in the background. The air conditioning felt like heaven on his prickly hot skin, but the rumbling he felt underneath his chest distracted him. Was it getting worse, that uncomfortable feeling, because of the cold? He shivered and tried to enjoy the trip home as best as possible.

As the limousine passed by department stores and groceries however, Mokuba's smile turned upside down rather quickly, his hands slowly clenching together in painful wanting. He turned his eyes away from the window and settled for his backpack. Opening it, he thumbed through his notes and sighed quietly, opting to close his eyes and just wait without any distractions.

Not only did looking outside make the rumbling even more painful, looking at his notes made his heart ache too. The topic was the basic introduction to economics. He didn't quite understand it. He knew someone who did.

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><p>Three plastic bags dropped unceremoniously to the ground, though its rather loud thump was masked by the blaring sirens. A pair of sandaled feet shakily took steps to approach a flaming torch of a building, reds and oranges coating the wooden exterior as if they were tongues licking at it without end. The glow of the flames made for a bloody setting, the chaos of the moment multiplied with high-pressured hoses and news reporters and fire men hacking away to try and save those still inside.<p>

She felt something hit her ankle. Her eyes slowly darted down to a lone pear that rolled off from the bag she had dropped moments ago. Her face unreadable, eyes hidden from the world, she crouched and held the pear with both hands, caressing the skin and feeling the meat. Her gaze glanced over the burning building once more, fruit still in hand. The woman neither moved nor spoke. She merely stood there like a helpless spectator in a Roman coliseum, watching martyrs die one by one.

Her left eyebrow twitched only slightly when firemen carried bodies out. They were small bodies, frail bodies. Children. Her hands may or may not have tightened around the fruit. They were alive, at least. Her grip still did not loosen. As more and more swarmed inside, she felt the ground crumble and her world spin. The lights were too bright, and the sky was much too dark for night. She closed her eyes and clenched them tightly shut. When she moved to open them again, the three-story building collapsed underneath the combined might of blazing fire and rotting wood. And perhaps bodies. Dead bodies that could no longer be saved. The building crashed, tumbled...in a pile, an ashen heap of nothingness. Flames still danced around the remains of what used to be a loving home, and tearing brown eyes surveyed the surrounding area.

The faces that she saw were mostly foreign. Strangers.

So she tried to look for him instead. Surely, he would have survived. Surely!

By her fourth round circling the nest of survivors, who were thankfully most of the children, she had slowly lost her faith. When she looked back at where the building used to stand tall and proud, nestled in a perfect location to view a sunset and sunrise, the firemen had almost extinguished all the embers lingering around. Her plastic bags were forgotten, stampeded on. Broken.

The massacre was over, and her lover had not survived. She was told he stayed behind to rescue more children. His charred body was found buried underneath a pile of soot and splintered masts. The roof broke into piece and a particularly large piece of it embedded itself into his side, piercing his lung. She cringed. Her eyes betrayed nothing.

They requested for an interview. She agreed.

The entire time, her hands gripped the pear, her fingernails having dug their way into the fruit, its juices dripping to the black ground. She was trembling horribly from the waist below.

TV's city-wide all showed the same thing, all had the same woman sitting behind a gray desk to spread the word;

_Flash Report! An untimely accident involving a broken toaster set into motion a truly tragic event. At 7:00 PM, fire engulfed one of the city's most renowned orphanages, leaving many dead and even more injured. Worst of all, this fire has taken away from these boys and girls a home. Only one of the orphanage's caretakers survived, and we quote; _

_"I was out buying dinner. I didn't know."  
><em>


	3. The Queue

**Full**  
><em>A YGO! Duel Monsters Fan Fiction<em>

**A/N:** No announcement of absolute importance comes to mind right now :) I would like to thank **fantasyguardian** for reviewing, though! Come on, guys, lemme know what you think? Pretty please with sugar on top? I'm dead scared of flames though so. I-I'll settle for dead silence if that's the case. Haha.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this fandom. Duh.

It's recommended that you view this story in 3/4 page setting. I'm scratching out the 1/2, it's pretty awkward looking. And it's 2:30 AM as I write this update, so forgive me for any grammatical errors. Why I write this late at night boggles me.

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><p><strong>Chapter III<br>"Queue."  
><strong>

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><p>For reasons that the CEO couldn't fathom, he remembered him.<p>

A light brown envelope lay open on his desk, multiple sheets of crisp, white paper neatly settled by his side. Seto rarely watched television nowadays, but every now and again, he checked on the stock market. It was the only thing worth his while. One other channel seldom caught his interest, but it was usually the stock market channel. Currently however, the brunette was thumbing over case files of somebody he remembered. The big bold print at the very top of the man's past application form spelled out the name, "Akira Papin".

He kept his stoic expression as he read through the files. The man was no longer employed in Kaiba Corporation, that much he could make out without the help of his past records. The CEO was tempted to close the files and shred them like he does the rest, but in a rare instance in which Seto shows a little bit of his human side, he actually allowed himself to admit that he respected the man named Akira Papin. And in the 10 years of service the man has done for the corporation, it only dawned on Seto now that his last name wasn't Japanese. A European parent marrying a Japanese citizen? Obviously.

He hummed quietly, switching papers and replacing his reading material with newer reports. He originally worked as a marketer for the company, under the supervision of partners Jean Travele and Kouya Kumamoto. He was able to work his way up thanks to his background in marketing, and he made a name for himself due in part to his influential family connections. Marketing soon turned into management, and management soon turned into a fight for the head of the Kaiba Legal Department. Seto raised an eyebrow in quiet approval. If only his newer employees showed this much dedication and loyalty to the job; he wouldn't be nearing bankruptcy in the first place.

As he read through more and more of Akira's reports, a file consisting of an entire three to four inch thick tome of loosely bound papers, Seto's respect for the man as a fellow workaholic decreased significantly. The most basic summary of it all could be said in one sentence: the man had connections. He was famous because his family was famous. A quick online engine search showed him all that he needed to know. Papin was a French name, and it was his grandmother that hooked him up with all the things he needed to succeed in the corporation. Why Seto didn't see this before, he wasn't sure. In all honesty, he didn't really care how he worked so long as he got the job done and it didn't cost the company any trouble. Though he still felt slightly disappointed that he was one of those fellows; Seto was no stranger to hard work, and he despised lowlifes who waded their way through life with nothing to their names but a silver platter filled with favors and a slick tongue to get them around without effort. What age was he when he had to raise the entire company's stocks by 10%? With a time limit? He frowned, but was compelled to read through his account despite the shocking revelation.

Time passed by quickly, and when Seto was nearly there, close to giving up reading his reports, he took but a glance at the television still switched on, and it was enough to make him go back to reading. The background noise droned at a low volume.

Seto respected Akira Papin for only one reason, and one reason alone; Akira was a fighter, just like him.

As a duelist, Akira wasn't much of a challenge. When you dueled against the likes of Yugi and Pegasus (not that Seto was willing to admit that either of them actually provided Seto competition), everybody else was easy. He can gauge his fighting capabilities as a duelist because they've dueled once or twice, when Seto was still in the development stages of his hologram project. Akira was busy warding off legal competition, trying to buy off the rights to the program from the hands of the blue eyed prodigy, while Seto himself was busy hands-on with tinkering with the program. He always won their test duels without a doubt and without breaking a sweat, and while his respect for his former employee grew at a snail's pace, it went slowly but surely. Every time Akira lost to his boss, he would sigh deeply and then burst out laughing like he was Santa Claus. Seto wasn't exactly amused at first - the CEO took dueling very seriously, after all - but he came to realize that Akira only laughed because he enjoyed the challenge. He never once showed signs of giving up, always trying to catch up to Seto in terms of competency. That determination was something Seto could respect. It reminded him of his own struggles, despite how little it seemed in comparison.

He was very happy with himself, that man.

To top it all off, Akira Papin had to face other problems beside the faulty initial designs of the hologram program and his inability to keep up with Seto as a duelist (his deck was worse than Gardener's, and that was saying something); he had to run the legal department alone. Jean Travele, who eventually became his equal partner in the firm, dropped off the face of the Earth. He had a run-in with the police because of his bad drinking habits and was sent to the province to recoup his losses. When he returned a week later, he was a changed man. Jean Travele, somebody who had no qualms at throwing his life away for booze and lazying around, could not stop staring at the open window in his and Akira's shared office, and was eventually fired by his own partner. His head was no longer in the game. Not that it ever was, but at least, before, when he was still training his partner, Jean had some grip on his job at Kaiba Corp.

Nobody would ever have guessed that that same man, somebody whom they thought was no longer ready for the corporate world, was the same Jean Travele - now a Lt. General of the Japanese Armed Forces.

Needless to say, Seto grew curious at the change. He wondered for a brief moment if that one visit to the province had something to do with the 180 degree turn in Jean's life. However, he was more interested at Akira, and so the other man was forgotten.

When Jean Travele left Kaiba Corp., Akira started taking on more roles. Though he had a partner to replace Jean (in the form of Kouya Kumamoto, another one of his previous mentors), Akira was still unable to balance out everything he had to and everything he needed to. Kouya handled half of the work, and Seto remembered another little fact about the man he came to respect; he and Kouya were best friends. There were times when, after a tiring midnight duel to test the system, Akira would leave for the office lobby while Seto gathered his blueprints for modifications. He left the dueling arena at 12:15 midnight, and when he went down to the dim, quiet lobby for a drink at 3:45 AM, Kouya and Akira were still there, sat on the pavement just outside the revolving doors. They were talking, and they never noticed Seto behind them. Some days, he wanted to know what they were talking about, and on most days, Seto didn't give a care.

As he turned the pages of the report on Akira Papin, Seto found himself curious once more.

Ah, but the extra help was no good in the end. Akira tired himself out, working at the legal department by day and dueling with Seto at night. The admiration from the CEO only came at full impact when he finally noticed that, despite all the stress Akira was dealing with, he still smiled. He looked extremely tired as he flashed his large grin and laughed his loud, boisterous head off at his millionth defeat, but he was still happy.

The CEO shook his head at a strange quirk Akira had that re-surfaced in Seto's memory; the man would sing opera songs after every defeat. On more than one occasion, Akira would hum in his office as he dealt with his legal papers, as well. Seto supposed that's how he was able to gauge that he was still happy. The admiration and respect...it wasn't a lot; Seto showed signs of annoyance at his happy-go-lucky attitude, his smile and his singing (he had a good voice though, that much he'll say). It wracked his nerves at how badly he played Duel Monsters. He was scatter-brained most of the time, too enthusiastic about this and that to pay attention to what he types down in his reports. Hell, half of the papers on Seto's desk at the moment were formal complaints from Kouya himself, at how lacking Akira was filling in his papers.

He sort of reminded him of Yugi.

The difference was Yugi was annoying as fuck, and he had that a cheat to help him win games.

Akira was, at the very least, honest and down-to-earth. He wasn't as annoying, he wasn't as dorky. He took his defeats with dignity.

He was very likable. A simple man who had no special talents besides his outrageously loud singing voice, but he was a simple man who fought until the very end, until he was able to smile at his victory, rather than another defeat. That, he mused, was really something worth respecting. And coming from the frigid Seto Kaiba, that meant a lot already.

It helped that Akira was civil with Mokuba. For what Seto could remember, their interactions were never as civil as Seto's and Akira's were. He chuckled darkly, for it seemed that Mokuba was the one more annoyed with Akira. He always tried to get the younger Kaiba to smile with him and sing along with his silly songs, but Mokuba was rather mature for his age (maybe it rubbed off from Seto?) and pried away from Seto's employee. They didn't meet often - Mokuba was only referee to their test duels once or twice, but whenever he was around, Akira would always try and draw the younger out of his shell. It didn't work, but Seto appreciated the efforts, no matter how pathetic it seemed. He wasn't sure about Mokuba though, but he meant no harm.

Seto reached the end of his report. His memory started clearing up as they approached a more recent time. Akira and Seto dueled and worked on the hologram program until it was perfect, and Akira had not one a single duel. However, he successfully defending the program from corporate sharks and legal loans that were sure to break the project. Before the Pegasus' tournament had begun, Akira and Seto dueled one last time and within that same week, Seto Kaiba formally announced to the rest of his company that the hologram slash virtual simulation duel disk system was finished. The prototype was set for testing. The rest of the events following was history.

He reached the end of the report and found something strange. The final part of his document was incomplete. The CEO narrowed his eyes and skimmed through the details. It seemed that Akira Papin was no longer employed at Kaiba Corp after a few weeks of absence, right after the finishing of the hologram program and a little before he dueled for the title of champion. No wonder his memory became vague regarding Akira; between dueling for your life and your brother getting kidnapped now and again, Seto had little time to think about anything else but winning. Seto ran a hand through his hair and focused on the report once more. The strange part about it wasn't so much Akira's unemployment at Kaiba Corp, but it was more on the fact that Akira Papin and Jean Travele shared the same circumstances before disappearing.

Akira took a vacation. Seto could understand that. They were extremely busy the past few months. But when he returned, he too, was no longer the same. He started spacing out, he started working without much effort or vigor. Seto leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, the back of his pale hand on his forehead. When was this? When were the signs showing? After his vacation, after his leave...did Seto even meet him then?

The thought hit him lightning - Seto knew that he did. He met him after the program, but no words were shared between the two. He passed by him with a nod and a wave. Akira was still employed at Kaiba Corp then, but Seto noticed small details that perhaps, were more significant than he gave them credit for. For one, the man's office was as silent as a funeral whenever he passed by it. No more singing, no more laughing. No more smiling. His eyes closed, and then he returned to reading.

The one thing that Akria and Jean did not share was how they left Kaiba Corp. The latter was fired, the former quit.

His resignation was tucked into the very back of the folder. He unclipped it and started going through the words, interested in the little tale he had spun for the night. At the end of it, Seto scowled and returned the paper back to its place in the folder. He really was a lawyer, for in all of his words and sentences and pretty language, Akira Papin never directly stated or answered the question; Why did you quit? He quit, just because.

What the hell was in that province in Okinawa that changed both men so much?

Seto finished reading through everything and returned the entire bulk of the folder back in its place inside a cramp metal drawer. Seto stared at the TV, still open and still flashing the same report; the CEO watched the news program for a few more minutes before switching the power off and returning to his laptop.

At the back of his head, he still wondered what was in Okinawa that made Jean Travele become who was today, and why Akira Papin left the corporation. Akira, judging from small snippets in his memory bank and based on his past reports, was someone well-known, established, rich, famous...He had it going for him. He had paved a path for himself, he had the fame he needed to succeed. But unlike Jean Travele who, after getting fired from his job, moved on to become a somebody in the military, Akira Papin just vanished. He was suddenly gone, the reports leaving a cold trail as to his whereabouts. His last name was still there, but who he was could no longer be traced. Almost like the prototype program they had worked on, Akira was no more.

Decidedly, the CEO resumed his work and started forgetting about putting an effort into tracing Akira. He shouldn't really care anymore about what happened to him, since he was no longer under his obligation. It really was just about respecting him that made him wonder all of a sudden.

That, and something else. Half-way through typing his business presentation, Seto remembered why he suddenly dug up information about Akira Papin.

He remembered because Kouya Kumamoto, presumably the man's best friend, was reported dead earlier that night. Died in a fire.

If he was alive, maybe Seto would have actually put a bit of effort to contact Akira, through Kouya. He quit five days after Akira did, and Seto just assumed they would still be together, working on something, making ends meet...

Ah, well. No use now.

The clock started ticking for him again. He had work to do.

* * *

><p>Mokuba sat at the living room, two blankets swiveled underneath him as he watched the news. He cried for a bit, because he felt something weird in his stomach that he needed to tell Seto sooner than later, and because something close to who he was, was no more.<p>

That poor place.

Those poor kids.

Mokuba sniffed and dragged his feet to the kitchen.

There was nothing there, but he needed to get away from the television. Those poor kids. At least he had a roof above his head.

At least he shared in their hunger.

* * *

><p>She couldn't sleep. The tears flowing from her eyes forbade her to rest.<p>

Without bothering to wipe her face, the young woman sat up, ignoring the dangerous creaking her cot made in the middle of the night. The darkness enveloped her like a cold mist, and she stood shakily, still unable to stop the tremors in her body. The wounds were still so fresh, open and bleeding. God, she was alone now, wasn't she? The kids were each going to other places, other homes. Perhaps the government would place some of them in their special programs, sent to other districts for a better life. She was no longer the government's to handle, so the best they could do was give her a place to rest and gather her bearings, give her a cot and a blanket to sleep through the rest of her life. If she so chose to, that is.

What kept her up was not just the tears. Her insomnia mainly came from a letter.

It sat by her bedside, waiting for her to open it.

She couldn't.

Not yet.

She would only stain its pristine, white sheets with her bleeding heart.

The young woman continued to sit on the makeshift bed, unblinking and tired. A small, muffled ringing came from her phone after an eternity of staring at the dark corner that wasn't illuminated by the moonlight. Without turning her head, she reached under a moth-eaten pillow and grabbed at her phone weakly, opening it to check the message.

She read it, and breathed deeply. Eventually, gravity willed her head to fall back down to the cot, and her sadness momentarily stopped throbbing, just enough for her tears to stop and for her eyes to close in empty sleep. Her phone's blue backlight served as a light source for only a few seconds before it dimmed away once more.

_From: Sir Papin  
>Time: 2:12 AM<br>-_

_Get some rest, cherie. I will speak with you tomorrow at noon. _

_Do not hold your nightmares back, for it will only serve to pain you.  
><em>


	4. To Be Seated

**Full**  
><em>A YGO! Duel Monsters Fan Fiction<em>

**A/N:** I'm getting really excited to write more chapters for this, not only because I'm getting tired of establishing a basic plot line but because there's more...interesting stuff involved in later chapters. And by interesting, I'm referring to something related to the title ;) It's probably pretty obvious what I'm talking about, but I like being mysterious so shut up. Haha! Thank you to **fantasyguardian**, **SmartGirl16** and **Candy_Couture** for the reviews!~ Glad you're all liking the story so far, and thank you also for the encouragement. Thanks to everybody who put this story (or me, d'aaaw) on their Alerts, as well.

Before I forget, yikes. Sorry for that one paragraph with all sorts of grammatical errors in the last chapter. I only noticed it when I read through it again tonight. Remind me never to write at that ungodly hour ever again. I'll edit it ASAP, though. I can't stand having that many ouchies in one go :|

The "Geek Squad" a.k.a. Yugi and the Gang will make another appearance in the next chapter. This is a Kaiba-centered fic, after all. But I can't help but include them in, they get under Seto's skin and that's always interesting to see ;)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own this fandom. Duh.

It's recommended that you view this story in 3/4 page setting.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter III<br>"To Be Seated."**

* * *

><p>It was difficult to curse somebody else when you're aware that it's all your fault - Seto Kaiba found himself the subject of his own scrutiny and malice when he received a call from Mokuba's school. He collapsed not long after he was dropped off from school, crying in pain as he writhed on the floor. While some of his more jealous classmates found it more useful to phone the paparazzi of Mokuba's condition, the more sensible ones helped the nurse carry him to the infirmary. It took about ten minutes to diagnose where the pain was coming from, and Mokuba himself told them what was hurting him.<p>

His stomach. The nurse immediately contacted Seto and informed him that he was suffering from an ulcer.

Mokuba conveniently left out that he had been taking aspirin in an attempt to douse the overwhelming pain due to his malnutrition and hunger. For now, he was content, drowning in a sea of soft plush cushions and swathe white sheets. He curled up into a ball, patient as any patient would be for the relief that was to come.

Before the nurse could offer Mokuba a small plastic cup filled with a milky sort of substance (temporary relief, she told him), Seto burst into the room and immediately gazed upon his brother on the bed. Despite his stoic facade, his eyes gave away the brewing storm, impending doom and heart-crushing sadness all melded into one emotion. Wordlessly, he crossed the room and carried Mokuba bridal style; he noticed how unbelievably light his brother was compared to the last time he held him. Granted that was a few years ago, but still. Seto was certain he didn't have a normal weight.

"Sir, he needs urgent medical attention-"

"Yes, I can see that." His answer was fast and snappy. Painful like a rip on a bandaid.

The nurse coughed. "Well then, if you're taking him to the hospital, please tell the personnel that-"

"I can handle it from here, thank you." He carried Mokuba out of the infirmary and into the hallway leading outside, not bothering to stop for a breath or to even give a backward glance at the dumbfounded and extremely ticked off nurse. Seto had no care of her feelings; as far as the CEO knew, the woman was due for a demotion for her incompetence to act quicker. Maybe if she did, Mokuba wouldn't be in as much pain.

As he walked to his car, avoiding the sudden horde of cameras and reporters that moved to block his way, he wondered when he started to blame others for his shortcomings as a brother. When did it become a convenience to shrug off Mokuba's pain on somebody else's shoulders? Sepia colored images, the borders a stark off-white depicting two brothers playing in the sandbox with smiles tugging at their lips...his mind whirled in a fascinating mix of nostalgia and regret. When did he stop becoming Mokuba's big brother, his most invaluable protector, to the cold-hearted, frigid man the media depicted of him?

"Get out of my way before I call the goddamn police." Seto growled possessively when on brave soul from the jostling crowd stretched his arm out, aiming to touch Seto's arm but ultimately falling an inch too short and grasping Mokuba's leg instead. He violently pushed his shoulders forward and ran to his car.  
>He carefully placed his brother on the front seat, buckling him up, and took his place in the driver's seat. He switched into ignition, pressed the gas pedal and never looked back.<p>

Time was of the essence.

It always was.

* * *

><p>"When can I see him?"<p>

The middle-aged woman at the front desk of the ward smiled and shuffled some papers.

"The doctor's given you access about two hours from now. They just want to run some tests on him."

Seto cringed inwardly.

"Aren't I supposed to be there as well? He is a minor, after all."

The woman shook her head, though her crinkly smile still remained. She stapled something to a folder and handed it to a nurse as she replied.

"I'm afraid these are rather delicate procedures, Mr. Kaiba. The least bodies inside the rooms, the better. You know how it is, sir."

"Hn." He glanced to his side for no particular reason, and walked away from the desk. The spitefulness he displayed in Mokuba's school disappeared the moment he reached the doors of the ER. Thankfully, there weren't too many patients in line (though he only thanked his luck for that because it meant less prying eyes and thus, more privacy). Still, he pulled some strings to get first priority. It wasn't hard to do so when the owner of the hospital was a business client.

Two hours. In two hours, Seto would see Mokuba again, and even though his daily routine consisted of marketing, business plans and finding economic trends that will boost gaming sales, he actually found himself aimlessly walking the hallways of the hospital with absolutely no urgency. He had two hours all to himself, and it bothered him greatly because he's never had two hours _just to himself_ in a long time. He could operate using his phone; granted, he would have to find the nearest coffee shop (there was one located downstairs) for the wireless internet...But the CEO couldn't seem to do it. For weeks on end, all he could think about was his work, how much piled up on him, how much his company was suffering because of the leak. He frowned and stopped his destination-less trek at the men's comfort room. When he looked at the mirror embellishing the entire wall of the white room, Seto Kaiba saw the sleepless nights and early morning meetings etched into his face. What were once electric blue eyes, fiery and passionate as they scanned cards and concealed hidden strategies for dueling victory, were now dull and fading ocean hues. A thin hand caressed his chin. He needed a shave as well. Since when was personal hygiene something overlooked? Since when was _all of this_ overlooked? Things that mattered to him?

Perhaps that was why he refused to work while he was in the vicinity of the hospital. The reason he and his brother were there - it was work. Seto's overwhelming need to fix things, to make life better for him and Mokuba. Ironic as it seemed, it was Seto's strength that eventually became his own weakness. Come to think of it, it applied even when they were young. He challenged Gozaburo to that chess game because he wanted out of the orphanage. He wanted a life of comfort that his brother deserved. Unknowingly, Seto Kaiba sealed his own black fate when he won that duel, and he could have left it at any time as well. But he didn't. He suffered day in and day out because it gave Mokuba something better than a moth-eaten futon to sleep in at night. At least it was Seto who was beaten. At least Mokuba was safe, secure, untouched by bullies.

Running the tap water, he pulled up his sleeves and washed his face. He refused to look up at the mirror, though. Not when all he saw was a confused, hollow shell of what he once was. Was it even about the company anymore? He spit in the sink and as he watched the liquids swirl down the drain, Seto knew his answer; _it was never the company_, it was always about Mokuba. _Always._

He ran his wet hands through his hair. Two hours, one hundred and twenty minutes - time he was wasting with his meaningless contemplations and musings. Seto cringed at himself one last time before leaving in a hurry, his coat fluttering about behind him like a symbol of authority. He marched into the coffee shop at the bottom floor and ordered their strongest espresso. He sat down on loveseat (which nobody else occupied from the moment he sat there to the moment he left) and took out his phone. He ordered five more cups of the coffee drink before leaving to see Mokuba.

In two hours, Seto accomplished about half of the work he would have if he had his laptop and equipment with him. He felt his insides churning with the accumulated heat of the coffee and the churning that he was so used to because coffee was all he took in nowadays. He felt numb, he felt like melting. He passed by the comfort room again and not once did he look up at the mirror - he wanted to puke, though.

All for Mokuba. He worked because he loved Mokuba.

It was always for Mokuba. He had to keep telling himself that, just like he did before, and then...everything will be better again.

* * *

><p>The smile on his face was something akin to a warm cup of tea in winter. No, a cup of hot chocolate. His smiles were so much richer than tea. Quietly, she walked over to his outstretched arms and accepted his embrace. He held for a few more minutes before pulling back and taking her face into his large hands. A mirthless laugh filled the small space between them; whenever she was with Akira, she always felt generally happier. Even at times when he only laughed to break silence.<p>

"Cherie," He began his sentence in an earnest tone, and his expression was laced with pity. On her end, she opted to stare at his clothes, finding the small piece of lint on his shirt more interesting than looking directly at his gaze.

"It has been difficult for all of us." Akira returned his hands to his sides and turned himself to face the view before them; his home was rather dull in the interior side, but he made sure to use all of his available resources to tend to the gardens. The flowers were blooming well, the butterflies were doting around the new vineyard he set up a week before. He would have asked the couple to visit - and if he had known the tragedy that awaited his dearest friend, he would have done it. He didn't even get to see the first fruits of Akira's labor. A bottle of wine he fermented himself. It tasted like crap, but Akira and Kouya would have had a good laugh. Maybe a dare or two, who could drink the most of it without throwing up...

His smile remained, though in his eyes brewed a gentle suffering.

"Has the cause of the fire been identified, my dear?" The woman took a seat and wrung her hands together for no particular reason other than to keep herself busy. She nodded once, and at the corner of Akira's eye, he saw her confirmation. He breathed in deeply and awaited her answer.

"The toaster caught fire in one of the kitchens. There was a gas tank beneath the stove. It exploded in a second. There wasn't much of a chance to stop it from spreading."

Akira closed his eyes, and he lamented how such a calming, soothing voice could hold so much bitterness. He shifted where he stood from the window and the creaking noise from the floorboards caught the woman's attention. She stared at his feet. She played with the loose string in her shirt.

"Where was he then? Trying to get everybody to safety, I assume?" The woman nodded twice, though they were rapid enough to be considered a single nod. She no longer had the inkling to cry, having spent all her tears the previous night. A lingering emptiness loomed in her chest, now. It hurt more than the early sting of Kouya's death.

"Ahh, always playing the hero. Oh, Kouya. Kouya, Kouya, Kouya..." The plump man, with his prematurely graying hair and scruffy chin, let a few tears fall in honor of his departed friend. He had such a lovely garden now, and his only wish was for Kouya to see it. How much he had accomplished with his help. As always.

"I think he wanted to double-check. To see if there was anybody else trapped, stuck. I don't know. He had time to leave, but he didn't go. He stayed inside till he was closed in by the fire. He's no hero, he's a fool."

Akira turned on his heels and met her eyes for the first time since she arrived. They were red, he could clearly make out the veins. They were also very deep-set, very tired. It hurt him even more to see her so broken and defeated. So purposeless, so lost. He moved to her once more, and as he reached over to her hand, he knelt and smiled again.

"Bine," He let another tear roll down his cheeks. "You of all people should know how he is. He is a man of self-sacrifice. Would you have expected any less of him?"

She took her hand back and promptly ignored the obvious sentiment of her former employer and friend. After a minute of dead air, wherein Akira stood upright once more and leaned on the couch's armrest, Bine took the white letter from her pocket and gestured at it with a flick of her wrist.

"...What is it?"

Akira shrugged amusedly. "Open it and find out, my dear."

"I don't want to."

"Then do not ask what it is."

Bine looked up at his still, smiling face. They held that stare for a while before she sighed and her nostrils flared. What choice did she have; obviously he called her here not just to discuss their deceased loved one, but for something else that might help her. She was homeless now. She had no income as well. What little talent she had would be difficult to integrate into society because the city was small and modernized. Her tastes were different from everybody else's as well. With a single gesture, she grabbed the letter-opener Akira offered to her and used it to carefully rip the top half off.

She read every line carefully, and when Bine was finished, her expression was different from what it was when she first entered the cobwebbed room. The tears were threatening to return. The woman stood and without any refinement in her movements, she tackled Akira into another embrace. He laughed solemnly and returned the hug with fervor, patting her back twice before she let go, letter still in hand.

"Will he agree?" She re-read every line. Bine grabbed the ripped envelope from the floor and re-read it again, and again and again. Akira made an uncertain grunt before responding.

"It will take some convincing on your part, but rest assured, this will work."

"...And if it doesn't?"

Akira laughed jovially, his breath coming from deep within his belly. Bine was reminded of Santa Claus.

"It will, it will! My dear, have faith. If ever we are wrong and it really does not work, then we will find something else for you." With a short, stubby finger, Akira poked at her nose and she drew back a shaky breath. The letter was in her hands and she couldn't find it in herself to let it go. Faith was a difficult thing to have when everything that gave you faith disappeared all in one go. Although Bine hadn't much of faith at the moment, she did have trust, and that was enough for her. She trusted Akira, and his letter, and all that would come with it.

"Stay the night, cherie. We'll contact him in the morning."

Bine agreed and for the third night in a row, was unable to catch a good night's rest. The letter did not remain far from her reach.


End file.
